


Walking In the Shadows

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-02
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean is twenty-one years old, and after losing his brother nearly seventeen years ago, Dean unexpectedly discovers Sam in a bar in Chicago...





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This story was written for a prompt by the lovely tigriswolf! She has been amazingly inspiring as of late and I completely adore the plotbunnies she sends my way. She asked for abused!whore!Sam, I don't know if I met her expectations, but I surprised myself with this fic. My beta kept saying it's whore!fic! Why is there sexual tension and no sex... OH! There it is! LOL. So enjoy! This fic is kinda of long... 23 pages, and um, has to be broken up in two posts. This is the sequel to "Learn to Crawl". Also there are some interesting uses of holy water within...

“Walking in the Shadows”

By C.K. Blake

 

It’s been nearly seventeen years since the last time he saw his baby brother. A little baby pushed in his arms by his father while their mother burned to death on the ceiling. He remembers making it outside and someone taking little Sammy from him. He remembers his father gathering him up, crying over the loss of their mother and little Sammy.

 

Dean Winchester has lived with the guilt of losing Sammy all this time. Sammy was his responsibility and someone took him away and his father has never looked at him the same since. No matter what Dean does…it’s never good enough. He lost Sammy, never mind the fact that he was just four years old. He still lost Sammy.

 

He is twenty-one now, sitting in a bar nursing down a bottle of beer. His face is bruised, his cheek cut open from a nasty fight with a thing he doesn’t even have a name for. All he knows is that it had claws, teeth, and a serious anger management problem. It’s not a problem anymore, but that doesn’t stop the stinging in his cheek.

 

He finishes the beer and raises his arm for another, when he picks up on the shouting coming from the area where a couple of pool tables are set up. He usually ignores bar fights unless he’s in the middle of one, but he still lifts his gaze out of curiosity, and he sits up and stares at the young man who’s around six foot five, dressed in tight fitting clothes, wearing eyeliner, his shaggy hair all over the place, and he’s looking pissed. 

 

There is something so familiar about the kid. Then Dean sees it. The kid looks up and he sees the kid’s eyes and he knows without a doubt, because that kid has John Winchester’s eyes. Holy hell, in a seedy bar in Chicago, Dean has found Sammy.

 

He slips down from the barstool, walks across the bar, and gets between the kid, Sammy, and the man hassling him. The man is about Dean’s height, but Dean’s got years of fighting and surviving on this guy, and while the guy has a few years on Dean, Dean knows he can take him. 

 

“What’s the problem?” Dean asks, his voice sharp as he narrows his gaze on the man hassling his kid brother.

 

“That little whore lifted my wallet in the men’s room. I want it back,” the man hisses.

 

Dean lifts a brow, spares a glance back at Sam who is glaring at the man, and looking all kinds pissed off. Dean files away the whore comment for later, and turns his attention back to the man when he hears the sound of a pocketknife snicking open.

 

Dean smirks at the man as the man holds the knife out. A crowd has started to gather around them, and Dean can feel those familiar eyes, his father’s eyes in the kid’s head, watching him. 

 

“Sure you wanna do this? Cause I’m guessin' mine’s bigger than yours,” Dean replies, and the man lunges and makes a swipe.

 

Dean jumps back, pulls his favorite hunting knife from the sheath at the back of his jeans, and holds it in a defensive grip. His thumb is curled around the butt of the hilt, the serrated edge of the knife is pointed towards him, and the narrow sharp curve of the blade is pointed outward, ready for action.

 

“Still wanna give it a go?” Dean asks, his tone cocky.

 

The man swallows and pulls back. Dean looks the man up and down and then snarls, “Don’t ever mess with my kid brother again. And next time bring a real knife to a knife fight.”

 

The man gives a shaky nod, puts his knife away, turns tail, and runs. Dean slips his own knife into the sheath in the back of his pants, and readjusts his jacket to cover it again. 

 

He turns to the kid, and the kid does not look pleased. Dean also notices the bartender coming out from around the bar and knows it’s time to go. He puts an arm around the kid’s shoulders, and while the kid looks like he wants to jerk away, he notices the bartender with a bat in his hand, and decides he’ll go with Dean for now.

 

Dean leads him out of the bar, and around to the alley where he’s parked his baby, a ’67 Chevy Impala, that he and his dad fixed up at an old friend’s place. 

 

The kid looks the car over, a little impressed and Dean can’t help the smile of pride on his face, then the kid looks over the top of the car at him and that sulky look is back in place.

 

“Hey, I just saved your ass back there, so you gonna get in and let me buy you something to eat. Looks like you could use a meal. I know a diner a few blocks away. It’s a real shit hole, but the food’s decent,” Dean says, and he really wants the kid to say yes, because everything about the kid’s eyes is screaming Samuel Winchester.

 

“Cut the shit. If you want me to blow you for free, fine. I guess I owe you, but I could have taken that asshole myself. It’s not like I need you doin’ me any favors,” the kid snaps, and Dean winces. So the whore comment was true.

 

Dean holds his hands up and says, “Woah. Look, I can get my dick sucked for free whenever I want. I just wanted to buy you a meal and talk, okay kid? God, there something wrong with that? Look if there’s somewhere you need to be, then I’ll give you a ride, but I’m offering free food. In my neck of the woods you don’t turn that down.”

 

The kid pulls the car door open, slips into the car, his long legs taking up most of the space afforded in the front passenger’s seat. Dean taps the top of the car lovingly and then slips in behind the wheel. He turns the engine over and spares the kid a glance before he pulls out and starts to head toward that diner he mentioned.

 

“So, you got a name, kid?” Dean asks.

 

The kid slips him a bored, sidelong glance and shrugs. “It’s what you want it to be.”

 

“I’m not in the market for a whore, now quit being a smart ass and tell me your God damned name,” Dean growls, and the kid shivers, turns wide-eyed to Dean, and Dean sees something real in the kid.

 

He nods and then, almost like he’s getting teeth pulled, he says, “Sam. My name’s Sam.”

 

Dean feels his gut clench, and he knows for a fact that this is Sammy. He’s finally found the brother he lost so long ago.

 

“Any family, Sam?”

 

“How’s that any of your business?” Sam snaps, getting all defensive and then he raises a brow and looks at Dean. “And if you know my name, how ‘bout you give me yours.”

 

“I’m Dean, and I had a kid brother once. You’re ‘bout what, seventeen or so? He would have been about your age.”

 

“Yeah, ‘bout seventeen or so. And what, he die or somethin’?”

 

“Or somethin’,” Dean replies with a sigh, his fingers tapping along the steering wheel as he pulls into the diner and cuts off the engine. 

 

Dean sits behind the wheel for a moment, feels Sam’s eyes on him. He swallows thickly, knowing that he’s got to tread carefully with this if he wants to get Sam to come with him. And Sam is going to come with him. There is no losing Sammy a second time. No way in hell.

 

“We goin’ in?” Sam asks pointedly.

 

Dean gives his head a shake and then nods. “Yeah.”

 

About fifteen minutes later Dean is picking over his fries while Sam wolfs down a second hamburger and reaches across the table to snatch one of Dean’s fries. 

 

Dean stares at him and pushes his plate toward Sam. He’s never seen anyone eat like this. Sam looks up at him through hooded eyes and shrugs. 

 

“Ain’t often a good, free meal comes along. Usually there’s strings. Still not sure about you. It’s not right that a guy comes out of nowhere, bein’ so generous without getting some kind of turn around.”

 

“And what if I do want something from you?” Dean asks, leaning across the table, and Sam looks up.

 

“Like what? The only thing you get for that stunt you pulled back at the bar is a free blowjob, that’s generous. If you’re into hands though, it’ll save me some grief. You want a good fuck I’ll knock a hundred off the going rate. That’s fair.”

 

Dean pulls back, runs a hand through his short, cropped hair, and sighs loudly. The waitress comes back with a couple of refills, and Dean shakes his head as he looks at the kid sitting across from him, and he wonders what could have possibly led Sammy to this kind of life.

 

He runs his tongue across his upper lip and then he leans forward across the table again, his knee knocking into Sam’s beneath the table. “Look, I don’t want to fuck you. What if I told you that you’d never have to fuck someone you didn’t want to ever again?”

 

Sam swallows, takes a long sip from his Coke, and runs his tongue along the inside of his right cheek considering before he finally replies, “I’d ask what the hell kinda scam you’re running.”

 

“No scam. Just come with me. You’ll never have to turn another trick. I’ll keep you fed, clothed, a roof over your head. All you gotta do is come with me, and maybe do the laundry every once and a while. That’s it,” Dean says, putting everything out for the kid to consider.

 

“Bullshit. There’s got to be something you want from me if you want me to come with you. Hell, you’re offering to be my sugar daddy. I’ve turned down rich men. I say when, I say who, I say how much,” the kid snaps.

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sure thing, Pretty Woman, but I’m not gonna just take off and leave you not knowing if you’re alive, or hungry, or hurt. Look, I lost my kid brother, and you kinda remind me of him. No tricks and I’ll keep you fed and clothed, come on. You don’t even have to do a damn thing and I’ll take care of you. That simple. You can leave any time you want to if it doesn’t work out. But don’t you think that’s a good deal?”

 

“Still don’t see what’s in it for you,” Sam says, and narrows his eyes.

 

Dean shrugs. “Call it the big brother program. Hell, I don’t know. All I know is that my mom died when I was a kid, my dad’s off doing God knows what for a job, and I lost my kid brother when I was four. If I don’t have someone to look after other than my own sorry ass I’ll go crazy. I’m sick of being left behind. This is more about me needing company than anything else.”

 

Sam pulls back and cocks his head to the side, considering the offer. “Fine, I’ll go with you, but I get a say in when I leave if shit gets heavy. And you don’t fucking touch me unless I say it’s okay. We need to stop by my place to get my shit, and then I’m good to go. And you can do your own laundry. I catch enough hell keeping my own clothes clean.”

 

“It’s a deal. You done here? I’d like to get out on the road as soon as possible.” 

 

Sam grabs the last fry off the plate, stuffs it in his mouth, drinks down the rest of his Coke, stands up, and says, “Yeah, I’m good.”

 

About ten minutes later Dean is parked in front of what looks to be an abandoned building, tapping his steering wheel with Metallica playing softly in the tape deck. He shakes his head, hardly believing that he’s found Sam again. This is almost like some kind of dream. He still doesn’t like the idea that his brother’s been turning tricks to survive, but surviving is surviving any way you cut it.

 

Dean can understand why Sam would choose taking off with a complete stranger if this is the kind of life the kid’s been leading. Can’t really blame him. Dean let’s his head fall back at the thought of what’s kept his brother alive for so long, and he’ll be damned if Sammy ever has to return to that life again. 

 

He knows Sam doesn’t trust him, but he’s going to do right by him. There are too many shadows in the kid’s eyes, like he’s not even a kid, never was one. One day they will be brothers again.

 

Dean jolts and shifts a little as the back passenger door is pulled open. A couple of black trash bags are tossed in the back, and then the door slams shut, making Dean wince. He gently pets the steering wheel of his car in apology and then Sam is filling up the space in the passenger’s seat. Dean takes in a deep breath and blows it out in a huff before he puts the car in gear and starts to put Chicago as far behind them as possible.

 

They’re a couple hundred miles down the road when Sam flips the volume dial on the tape deck, shifts so that he’s facing Dean, and then cocks his head, a sultry pout to his lips and a suspicious gleam in his eye. “So, where exactly are we going?”

 

“Got a job out in Tacoma, Washington. Supposed to meet my Dad out there by Friday,” Dean answers.

 

Sam’s eyes widen. “Wait, we’re driving to Washington State? What the hell? Where in the hell do you live?” Sam asks, his voice taking on an edgy tone.

 

Dean let’s his head roll to the side and he looks at Sam with a smile. “This is home. My baby’s more than just a car. And once we cross the state line I’ll see about getting us a room with a couple of beds. God, I could use a shower, and you gotta lose that make-up. Jesus.”

 

“So you’re a fucking drifter?” Sam bites out.

 

Dean shrugs. “Something like that, but I’m a drifter with a heart of gold, a kick ass soundtrack, and good comp’ny. Don’t need much else. And maybe we should set some ground rules for this little arrangement of ours.”

 

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “I fucking knew this was too good an offer to be true. So what, got some kinky ass road trip fantasy, cause I charge by the hour, man.”

 

Dean bites down on his tongue, counts to ten, pulls the car over and shuts the engine off. He turns in the seat, and glares at the kid.

 

“Okay, here’s the thing. I’m twenty-one years old, dude, I’m into chicks, and I’m taking you under my wing cause you need somebody to look after your stubborn ass before you get yourself killed turning tricks for the wrong perv some night. Rules are as follows. No more turning tricks. Separate beds, if we have to bunk in the car one of us gets the front seat and the other gets the back. When we stop in a place long enough your ass is getting tested for everything there is to get tested for. You can do what you want during the day, but at night you come back to wherever we’re staying at the time and you either keep your ass within my sight or shut up tight in the motel room or this car. Got it? I do some pretty dangerous jobs, and I won’t see you get hurt. And when you meet my dad, keep the smart ass attitude to yourself, no make-up, and Christ we should stop and get you some clothes that don’t make it look like I just picked your ass up off the corner. Sound fair?”

 

“Whatever,” Sam snarls, and then he slouches down in the front seat, which is an accomplishment considering his size, and crosses his arms over his chest. 

 

Dean turns the engine over and gets back on the road; his thoughts turn to enduring the sulking that is obviously a constant with Sam.

 

It’s a long five hours later that Dean finally pulls into a cheap motel. Sam is sprawled out in the passenger seat, his head laid back over the seat at what looks like a painful angle, snoring. Dean rubs his eyes, and then goes to the office where he gets a room courtesy of one Jonas Popovich, whoever the hell that might be. 

 

He pulls the car up to the room, gets his duffels out of the back, and then rolls his eyes before he smacks Sam in the arm. Sam jerks awake and looks around in a slight panic until he recognizes Dean, scowls, gets out of the car, grabs one of the garbage bags from the back and follows Dean into the room. 

 

Dean tosses his bags on the bed nearest the door, and Sam takes the bed closer to the bathroom. Sam drops his bag to the floor and flops back on the cheap motel mattress, clasping his fingers together and bringing his entwined hands behind his head. He shifts so that he can see what Dean’s doing, and lifts a brow as he watches Dean pour salt lines along the windows and doorway. 

 

“Man, you’re seriously tweaked,” Sam says.

 

Dean snorts. “When you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen you don’t take chances. Now if I were you I’d take a shower now, because if I end up in there first there won’t be any hot water left.”

 

Sam scrambles up from the bed, and heads into the bathroom. A few minutes later Dean hears the shower going and he sits down on his bed, his elbows on his knees and his fingers threading through his short hair, wondering what he’s gotten himself into. He wasn’t thinking when he made the offer to Sam, but he knows that he couldn’t have left him behind either. This is a huge mess in the making, he can just tell.

 

He pulls out a few weapons from his second duffel bag, a couple of guns, a nine-millimeter and a revolver, and he pulls out his set of throwing knives, and his favorite hunting knife. He lays them out on the rickety hotel table, and then he pulls out the cloth he uses to clean them, a couple of barrel cleaners, the gun oil and his whetstone. 

 

He starts with the revolver first, taking it apart, cleaning the barrel and the compartment for the bullets, and then he polishes the metal to a gleaming shine. Next is the nine-millimeter, which he treats to the same care. He makes quick work of sharpening and cleaning the throwing knives, and by the time the shower shuts off, he’s running the blade of the hunting knife lovingly down the whetstone. 

 

At the sound of the bathroom door opening Dean looks up and lifts a brow. Sammy walks out in a cloud of steam, a threadbare towel wound around his tapered waist, and a towel in his hands drying his hair. Dean sets the knife aside, and stands up. He shakes his head, and notices a few of the scars and old bruises along Sam’s chest, and when Sam heads toward his bed, Dean can also see the scars and bruises on his back. 

 

Dean feels something strange pooling in his gut, and he swallows thickly. He strides over to his duffel, pulls out some clean clothes and heads to the bathroom. When he passes Sam he says in a strangled voice, “New rule. Clothes are a necessity. You better be wearing pants when I come out.”

 

Sam snorts as the bathroom door closes behind Dean, and he hears a stream of cursing coming from the bathroom as the shower is turned on. Maybe he should have left a little hot water, but no one has ever accused Samuel Winchester Montgomery of ever being nice.

 

While Dean is in the shower, Sam has an opportunity to explore. He finds a pair of decent blue jeans in his bag, puts them on, and then he crosses the room and looks down at the collection of weapons on the table. He doesn’t know how to put the guns back together, but a knife is easy enough to handle. He picks up the knife that Dean had pulled on that guy back at the bar. 

 

His eyes following the gleam along the blade, and his thumb runs carefully along the sharp blade. It’s an amazing knife, and as Sam looks at the assortment of weapons and his eyes are turned once again to the salt lines he wonders just what this guy is into. He gets up and rifles through the duffel bag on Dean’s bed and finds clothes and Dean’s wallet. 

 

There’s some cash, and a quite a few credit cards. None of the cards have the same name on them. So the guy obviously runs scams. Not that surprising. He thumbs through the cards until he comes across a couple of driver’s licenses. One is from Kansas, another from Texas, and the third from California, and all three have one thing in common, the name on them is the same. Dean Winchester. 

 

Sam hears the water shut off. He folds the wallet and puts it back in the duffel. He’s about to head over to his bed when ringing sounds from the duffel. Sam stops. He knows he shouldn’t answer the phone, because who knows who could be on the other end of the line, but curiosity has always gotten the better of him. 

 

He pulls the phone out of the bag, flips it open and brings it to his ear. There’s a gruff voice on the line, and Sam swears that it sounds so familiar.

 

“Dean, I need you to haul ass up here as soon as you can. This skin walker’s a tricky sonofabitch. You know the location. I’ll be waiting at the motel near the reservation. See ya when you get here, son.”

 

The man doesn’t even wait to hear a reply, just hangs up like that. Sam freezes at the sound of the bathroom door opening behind him and then spins around to face Dean. His mouth falls open at having been caught, and he holds the phone limply in his hand.

 

Dean lifts a brow and then says, “What did he say?”

 

“Something about a skin walker and you knew his location. Also said something about a motel near a reservation, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean, and what’s a skin walker?” Sam asks.

 

Dean bites his lip and turns his gaze to the ceiling. “Just another job. You might want to think about turning in. We gotta make a break early tomorrow if I’m gonna make it there in time. Dad hates it when I’m late.”

 

“You mean that was your dad?” 

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sounded more like a drill sergeant.”

 

Dean shrugs. “He’s a retired marine. Never says more than he has to about a job. Now turn in,” Dean says.

 

“I don’t know what kind of work you do, but I saw the cards. You’re a scam artist right? Dean Winchester, is that even your real name?” Sam asks.

 

Dean narrows his eyes on the kid. “Nosy little bastard, huh? Yeah, Dean Winchester’s my name. My dad is John Winchester. And please tell me you didn’t swipe my cash, because it took me awhile to build up that stash, and I’d hate to have to kick your ass so early on.”

 

“I only take what I’m owed. That’s why I swiped that guy’s wallet back at the bar. If I get down on my knees I’m damn well gonna get paid for it,” Sam snaps.

 

“And that, my friend, is far too much information for me. Go to bed. We’ll catch some breakfast in the mornin’, and then we’re bookin’ it the hell outta here. The sooner we reach my dad the better.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d just love to find out that his son picked up a whore in Chicago and has decided to keep him like a fucking stray.”

 

That’s the last straw. Dean crosses the room and shoves Sam up against the wall, his arm pressed firm against Sam’s throat. Sam’s eyes flash darkly and he looks down at Dean with a smirk. 

 

“I was wondering when you’d come out to play. Knew there had to be something you wanted,” Sam says, his tone low, as he thrusts his hips forward and grinds against Dean’s crotch. 

 

Dean fights back the groan in his throat at the contact, and wonders what’s gotten into him. His breathing is ragged as he gets up into Sam’s face. 

 

“Look, I’m trying to help you out here. You’re better than some two-bit whore turning tricks for food and living in that shit hole. You’re too good to get down on your knees for a few bucks from some fucking sleaze. Grow the fuck up and see me as someone trying to help you, be your friend. I realize you’ve probably had a shitty life, but mine hasn’t been all fucking roses either. I’m not gonna fuck you, I’ve already told you that! Now stay outta my shit and get some sleep!”

 

Sam snorts and laughs. “Come on, your dick says you want me, and I gotta pay you back somehow right?”

 

Dean pulls back like Sam’s hit him. He faces the door, trying to gain control of his breathing and will away his hard on. Christ, Sam is his brother, why in the hell can’t his dick accept this?

 

“Go the fuck to sleep. We eat and then head out in the morning,” Dean grinds out, then he goes to the table, puts the guns back together and puts the weapons back into the duffel on the floor. 

 

He drops the duffel on his bed to the floor, yanks the covers back on the bed, pulls them over him and settles in. He spares a glance at the other bed, and sees that Sam is on his back, sheets pulled halfway up his bare chest, Sam’s head turned toward him. Their eyes meet, and Dean swallows thickly, because there are things swimming around in Sam’s eyes that have no business lurking there, and below it all is desperation, long wilted hope, and something bordering on what Dean is afraid to call lust. He’s determined not to go there. 

 

He checks the knife beneath his pillow, makes sure it’s in its sheath, and he settles down. Sam shuts the lamp off and Dean lies there for the longest time wondering what kind of life his little brother survived to end up as a whore in Chicago. Life is funny sometimes, but no matter how hard it would prove to be, having Sammy back was a relief, because there is no more wondering what happened to him all those years ago. Not when he’s here now, and Dean can protect him again.

 

\----------

 

Dean sighs, his grip letting up on the steering wheel. They’ve finally reached Tacoma, though this past week has been a real trial on his patience. He shifts his gaze to Sam, who is finally wearing decent clothes as opposed to the ripped up, skintight rags he’d worn before. The loose look fits the kid, baggy jeans, a hoodie, new sneakers that Dean had to spring forty bucks on, but Sam’s worth it. The kid hadn’t liked shopping at thrift stores, but they managed after a couple of fights and Dean being accused of sucking ass as a Sugar Daddy.

 

Dean takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, bracing himself as he pulls into the motel near the reservation. He sees his father’s truck, and pulls the Impala into the space next to it. He cuts the engine, turns to Sam, and says, “Well, we’re here.”

 

“Bout damn time. Getting tired of being in this damn car all day. She’s a sweet ride, but I need to take a piss, and I’d love to stretch my legs,” Sam replies crankily.

 

Sam is the first out of the car, and he walks around for a few minutes. Dean slips out of the car, locks her behind him, and heads toward room 13. He takes in a deep breath, and feels the looming presence of Sam at his back as he knocks on the door. A moment later the door is pulled open to the extent that the chain lock allows, and John is peering through. 

 

He looks from Dean to the tall kid standing behind him, before he closes the door and opens it. He cocks his head at Dean, a brow raised, and then lifts his gaze pointedly to Sam.

 

“Who the hell is this, Dean?” John asks, his voice gruff.

 

Sam squirms a little under the scrutiny, not sure how to take John Winchester, as Dean sighs. “Dad, this is Sam Montgomery, Sam, my dad, John Winchester. I had some trouble in Chicago, took care of it, and kinda got stuck with him. He’s not so bad.”

 

“So he knows what we’re hunting?”

 

“Not exactly,” Dean grinds out, and then Sam cuts in, “Hey, mind if I take a piss?”

 

John steps back and the kid crosses the salt line and heads straight for the bathroom. Dean steps into his father’s room, and the door shuts behind him. Dean notices the news clippings and old food wrappers scattered around the room, and then returns his attention back to John. “So how bad we talkin’ with this skin walker?”

 

“Do you really think we should be having this conversation with some strange kid in the bathroom listening in? Dean, what were you thinking? He’s a kid, probably has parents worried sick about him, and you drag him halfway across the country, like this? That’s kidnapping!” John snaps.

 

“Actually, it’s not. My parents died when I was seven and I went into a few foster homes. The last one was a real bitch, so I took off. Ended up in Chicago when the money ran out, and found myself in some trouble. Dean got me out of jam, and decided he’d be my Daddy Warbucks, but he really does suck at this whole Sugar Daddy thing,” Sam says as he steps out of the bathroom, and Dean glares at him, while John looks at the kid with narrow eyes, trying to get a read off of him. There’s something familiar about this kid that he just can’t put his finger on.

 

“So, you’re a hustler?” John asks, and it’s a loaded question and Dean wants to melt into the floor.

 

Sam pulls at the dark green hoodie, and shrugs. “I’ve been called worse, a whore, slut, prostitute, all boils down to the same thing. I don’t get why your precious Dean has taken me in. I’m not used to charity. Usually someone does me a favor they expect a little payback. Can’t say I’ve made much headway with him. But I’ll figure him out soon.”

 

John’s eyes widen and then he shifts his gaze to his son, and says, “Dean, mind telling me why you’d pick up a prostitute? A male prostitute?”

 

“Sammy,” Dean says, and John feels the wind knocked out of him as he returns his gaze back to Sam, and there’s that sense of recognition again, but it can’t be. 

 

Sammy is gone, has been gone since the night Mary died. No, this kid sees an opportunity at steady meals, clothes, and security in Dean. That has to be it. There is no way his youngest son, his Sammy, would be reduced to this.

 

“I highly doubt that, but fine. He can stay,” John replies.

 

“So how about some take out and then we can talk more about this job. I’m guessin’ it’s not anyone on the reservation?” Dean suggests.

 

“I can have pizza delivered. I’ll get anchovies on mine, you still into that beef, pepperoni, and ham?” John asks.

 

Dean nods and then looks at Sam. “I’ll share with Dean, but if you could add pineapples to half of his, I’d blow you.”

 

John sputters, and Dean sends a glare in Sam’s direction. Sam just shrugs and smirks back and Dean. He likes this edge on Dean, makes him fun, and he’s going to figure out the limits and boundaries that Dean has working for him. John looks like he has a short temper, so he’ll have to watch himself with the old man, but a little fun won’t hurt anyone. Besides he’s pretty sure that Dean could and would take on the old man to keep him safe.

 

John places the order for the pizza, and Dean looks around the room, notices the two beds.

 

“Dad, think you can hold off on filling me in while I got get a room for me and Sam?” Dean asks, and gets up to head to the door.

 

“Why? Are you fucking him?” John asks point blank.

 

Dean’s eyes widen and Sam pipes up from his place on the bed, “Not yet, but I wouldn’t mind.”

 

“There are two beds in this room. I’m in the one closest to the door. You and your whatever the hell he is, can have that bed. No funny business, Dean. I don’t think I can take it. Christ, I… don’t even know where to begin, but we have a job to do, and I’m sure you know all about safe sex with all the woman you’ve left along the way. The same, I assume, goes for…”

 

“Dad, I’m not… That’s just NOT happening. Fine we’ll stay here with you. Now please tell me you have beer.”

 

John waves to the mini fridge and Dean grabs a bottle, then tosses one to Sam, and brings one back for his father. John looks disapprovingly as Sam pops the cap on the beer and takes a long pull from the bottle, but it’s not really his place to say anything. It’s not like he’s the kid’s father.

 

There’s awkward silence between father and son as Sam channel surfs on the television and finally settles on a game show. At the sound of a knock on the door, John gets up, answers the door, pays with two twenties and tells the delivery kid to keep the change. 

 

John sets the pizzas down on the table, and Dean comes over, takes the one that’s his and Sam’s and goes over to the bed, he sits down next to Sam, and opens the box and Sam snatches a piece covered in meat and pineapples and takes a bite, a string of cheese hanging between his mouth and the pizza.

 

Sam moans and Dean swallows thickly before elbowing him in the side and taking a meat covered slice for himself. Sam gives Dean an annoyed look, but finishes the slice in silence. 

 

Once they’ve eaten their fill, John and Dean start to talk shop. They’re looking for a skin walker; John has narrowed down the suspects, the woman that runs the infirmary on the reservation and the chief’s daughter. They need silver for this job, silver and a lot of luck. 

 

By the time John and Dean are done talking about the case and how they’re going in to find the skin walker, Sam is curled up on his stomach, asleep. Dean gets up and crosses the room to the bed, runs an affectionate hand through Sam’s hair and looks up at his father.

 

“It’s him Dad. It really is. You’re crazy if you don’t see it,” Dean says.

 

John shakes his head. “He’s gone. There’s no getting him back. I thought we dropped this years ago. You’re setting yourself up to get hurt. Hell, he’s a prostitute. What are you thinking?”

 

“I’m thinking I have my brother back. That’s enough for me. Why is not enough for you?” Dean asks.

 

“Because Sammy is gone, hell, he could be dead for all we know,” John hisses, but as he turns his gaze to the kid curled up on the bed, he sees something that could almost pass for innocence on his face, and the kid is young. He’s had a hell of a life, that much is obvious, but John won’t give into Dean’s crazy hope. Sammy is gone, just like Mary. He’s accepted that and moved on. There is no going back.

 

“Just get some sleep, son. And don’t let him feel you up, and if my wallet’s short tomorrow you’re paying me back,” John says softly.

 

Dean snorts. “He’s not a thief.”

 

John shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything as he strips down to his t-shirt and boxers and slips into bed. He checks for the knife beneath his pillow, and then he begins to drift off as Dean gets the light and slips into the other bed, with the kid.

 

\----------

 

At the sound of a crash and someone crying out, John reaches under his pillow for his knife, slips out of bed and flicks on the light in the room. He’s surprised to see Dean on top of the kid, straddling him and holding his arms down. 

 

He sets the knife down, gets his arms around Dean, and jerks him off of the boy. 

 

“I’ll be good, I promise. Please. Be good. Won’t do it no more. Please. I’m good,” the boy chokes out.

 

He struggles with some unseen force and then he pulls back, slips over on his side and curls into himself. He’s shaking and whimpering and John honestly feels bad for the kid.

 

John exchanges a look with an equally stunned Dean, and then he bends down and gives the kid’s shoulder a good shake. The kid jolts, stretches out and then turns over. He blinks against the light, raising his arm to shade his eyes from the light. “What’s with the lights? Not time to go already, is it?”

 

John shakes his head and says, “No, you just had a nightmare.”

 

The boy flushes red, and bites at his bottom lip before squeezing his eyes shut and taking a couple of deep breaths. When he opens his eyes again he looks straight up into John’s gaze and says, “Yeah. I’ll probably have another one too. Happens all the time. Used to have night terrors when I was a kid.”

 

John nods, gives the boy an awkward pat on the shoulder then looks at Dean with an expression that says, ‘He’s all yours, son.’

 

Sam lifts his head and watches as Dean draws up to the bed, and cautiously slips beneath the covers. Sam’s pleased to note that Dean’s only wearing a pair of boxers and sweat pants. Sam curls up against Dean, resting his head on Dean’s chest, just over Dean’s heart. 

 

Dean allows it, and is surprised that it feels so right when he was expecting it to feel awkward. Dean lets his arm wrap around Sam’s back, and his fingers play with the too long hair at the nape of Sam’s neck, and John watches as his son and the boy fall asleep.

 

Unease gnaws at his gut at how attached Dean is to the kid, how they just settled back into bed like it was natural for them to be together, like they’d known and trusted each other their whole lives. 

 

John flicks off the light, at the sound of the kid’s light snoring, and his heart skips a beat as he hears Dean’s voice, soft and soothing.

 

“I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, Sammy. Never again.”


	2. TWO

Sam is finishing up his fries, Dean is next to him working on a burger, and John is across from them, finishing up with his steak and eggs, and Sam keeps flickering his gaze up and observing the older man. 

 

There are some things that Sam has picked up on. John Winchester only speaks when he deems it necessary, what he says goes as far as Dean is concerned, and John Winchester is highly suspicious of him. In fact he’s caught John checking his wallet a couple of times. Sam rolls his eyes. He’s not a thief. He only ever takes what’s owed him, and there is nothing the old man owes him. 

 

If anything, Sam does owe Dean. He’s been trying to figure out how to repay Dean for everything, because this doesn’t feel right, sticking around, getting meals and clothes for free. What does feel right is Dean’s arms around him, because the nightmares stay away. 

 

Sam isn’t comfortable admitting that there is something attractive about Dean. Sam’s never found anyone attractive before, because sex has always been about survival, but this morning when he woke up with his wood pressed against Dean’s thigh, he’d really wanted to touch Dean, and somehow get Dean to touch him. 

 

Instead he’d blushed, slipped out of the bed, and jacked off in the bathroom, Dean’s name on the tip of his tongue as he came. 

 

As he stepped out of the bathroom he’d noticed that John had been awake, and John kept his eye on him as he took one of the little plastic cups off the dresser, filled it from the tap and drank it down. Sam had almost felt guilty under the man’s scrutiny, but then he turned his gaze to Dean, and felt something lift inside of him. Maybe Dean could be the real thing, honest in a con-artist kind of way, because so far Dean hasn’t made a move, and Sam doesn’t really know what to think about that.

 

So here is Sam, sitting next to Dean, in a diner, and Dean’s father is getting up to pay for the food, and then they are heading out. He feels Dean’s eyes on him, and looks up from his Coke.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

Dean shakes his head and then sighs. “Why are you baiting Dad? Look, push your luck with me, hell I dragged you into this, but don’t fuck with my dad. He already doesn’t trust you, and I don’t want to get caught in the middle when he’s finally had enough and just goes straight to kicking your ass. So knock it off. Besides this job is already intense and we need to be on top of our game. And tonight stay in the damn car. No matter what you might see or hear, you stay in the damn car.”

 

“What the hell kind of job is it anyway? From everything I’ve picked up on the last couple of days, you and your Dad are gonna go tramping through the woods and hunt some kind of monster thing that doesn’t exist. I didn’t realize you were crazy when I took off with you,” Sam says with a roll of his eyes.

 

“It’s better than whoring,” Dean hisses.

 

Sam bites down on his tongue as he takes one last sip of his soda, and they get up to leave. Sometimes Dean really knows how to stick it to him and twist the knife. That irritates Sam more than he cares to get into.

 

Once in the car they follow behind John’s black pick-up. Sam gets a little nervous as they turn down what looks like an abandoned hunter’s trail, and about two miles in, John pulls over and Dean does too.

 

“Now remember what I said. Stay in the car, no matter what. There’s a gun in the glove compartment and a knife right here, if you need it. Just don’t shoot me, okay?” Dean says, and Sam can sense something ominous in the air as he nods.

 

Dean gets out of the car, pops the trunk, pulls a few of things out of it, a couple of wicked looking knives and a sawed off shotgun, and then the trunk is slammed shut, and Dean’s tapping against the window. Sam rolls down the window, takes the keys from Dean, and then looks up at Dean, wondering how the guy can trust him with the keys to his car.

 

He gets a sinking feeling in his gut as he watches Dean follow John into the woods, and then he curls up on the front seat, and waits. Something is wrong, he can feel it in his bones, and then it hits him, like a first class headache and then he’s seeing things like a waking dream. 

 

He leans forward, his hands clutching at his temples as the pain grows in intensity, stabbing, clawing, burning, tearing into his mind, and he’s had this happen before, but never like this.

 

There’s flashes of shadow and green tinted with blue, like he’s running in the forest, and there is pain at his left side, and burning scratches along his face, and his lungs are burning from the pain and the need to run, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He peers over his shoulder for a second and a creature the likes of which he’s never seen before is tearing through the forest behind him. 

 

The creature’s skin is dark, even in the moonlight flashing through the trees, it’s almost hairless, save for the long strip of coarse, dark hair running from the top of its head down along it’s spine. Its hands are almost like human hands, save that they are too long and have extra joints and long tapered claws extending from the fingertips. The face is almost human save for the snarling snout with long, sharp, yellow and blood stained teeth dripping with thick ropes of saliva.

 

Sam’s grip tightens at his temples and he whimpers, but he’s roughly pulled from the vision as he hears something breathing heavily and scrambling through the brush behind him. He sluggishly sits up and looks out of the window of the car, and his eyes widen at the sight before him. There’s Dean clutching at his side, his breathing ragged, covered in streaks of blood and dirt, and he’s limping and crawling desperately toward the car.

 

There’s a long, mad howl coming from behind Dean, and then that thing from Sam’s vision leaps from the woods. Sam’s heart leaps to his throat and he’s so tempted to slip behind the wheel of the Impala, and haul ass, forget about what he’s seen, and forget about everything, about maybe finding someone who sees him as more than just a charity case or a whore. His gaze turns to the ground, and Dean’s laid out, his back barely rising, as he tries to drag himself forward to the car.

 

Sam takes in a breath and makes his decision. He opens the car door, and reaches toward Dean. If he leans forward just a little more he can grab Dean’s hand and drag him into the car. The thing’s snout lifts, and then it’s wild amber eyes fall on Sam and he swallows thickly before he grabs Dean’s hand and puts all of his strength behind dragging Dean into the car with him. Dean cries out as he’s dragged roughly across the ground, and Sam winces.

 

He just manages to get Dean in the car, when the door slams shut against the weight of the creature hitting the side of the car. Sam scrambles to lock all of the doors, and then he pulls Dean against him. He sees the scratches along Dean’s face, and the notices the blood that seems to be pouring from Dean’s left side, not to mention the shredded condition of Dean’s jeans and the claw marks he can see marring Dean’s legs.

 

Christ, what in the hell is that thing?

 

Sam’s head darts up at the sound of a gunshot followed by silence, and then three more shots. The snarling creature is silent and twitching on the ground and John Winchester is looking through the passenger side window of the car. Sam leans forward and unlocks the door, because maybe John knows what to do, because Dean is bleeding all over the place.

 

Sam takes Dean’s head into his lap, running his fingers through Dean’s short hair, and Dean’s breath hitches for a moment as he looks up at Sam, a smile on his face, almost like he’s at peace. He reaches up weakly with his hand, and whispers, “Good having you back, Sammy. Missed you. Love you.”

 

Dean’s hand drops back limply to his side to hang over the seat. His head slumps to the side, and his eyes fall shut. Sam takes in a breath and looks at John, struggling to breathe, because he’s seen a lot of shit in his time, and lived through hell, but he’s never watched anyone actually die before.

 

“What do I do?” he chokes out, and watches as John presses a shirt from the floorboard against Dean’s side.

 

John looks up at Sam and says, “You follow me in this car. Do every damn thing you can to keep up with me.”

 

Sam nods and then John slams the door of the Impala, heads to his truck and a minute later they are speeding back down the hunter’s trail the way they came. Within ten minutes Sam is pulling into the parking lot of an old church in the middle of nowhere behind John’s truck. John gets out of his truck and runs back to the car. He pulls open the door and gathers Dean into his arms like he’s weightless, and from all the blood loss, Sam thinks that just might be a possibility.

 

John then races towards the door of the church. He kicks sharply against the doors, and then the doors are pulled open by a tall, thin priest with longish salt and pepper hair, a beard and mustache. His eyes widen at the sight of John with a broken Dean in his arms, and then he’s ushering them inside. 

 

He leads them through a door, down into the underbelly of the church. He stops at the second door on the right of the hall, and opens it up. John follows him inside, and then the door is closed in Sam’s face, and Sam hasn’t felt this helpless since his last foster home, when Judith would leave him home alone with her husband Alden. 

 

\----------

 

John makes quick work of cutting open Dean’s shirt while his old friend, Pastor Jim Murphy, takes care of Dean’s jeans. John looks over the knives, needles, and thread littered on the table, from Jim’s custom first aid kit.

 

He reaches past everything for the bottle of holy water on the small table. He takes the cap off and pours it into the wound in Dean’s side. Dean’s body arches and shrinks away in the pain, as steam appears to rise up from the wound. 

 

Once John is satisfied that the wound is clean, he reaches for the antiseptic, pours some over the wound. Again Dean’s body arches before it sags back to the bed. Jim hands him a threaded needle and then John is stitching the wound in his son’s side shut. 

 

He’s quick and efficient at patching his boy up, and then he pulls back to survey the rest of the damage. There are some scratches on Dean’s face, nothing too serious, and Jim has taken care of the claw marks on Dean’s legs, nothing as bad as that wound on his side.

 

John tapes some gauze over the wound on Dean’s side, and Jim finishes taping some gauze over the deepest claw mark on Dean’s inner right thigh. An inch more to the left and Dean would have bled out through his femoral artery. Thank God for small miracles.

 

With their work done, Jim pulls a blanket over Dean, and then he looks at John, his kind gaze meeting worried hazel eyes. Jim sighs and then asks, “So John, who’s the boy? Was the skin walker after him? Was he the next victim?”

 

John shakes his head. “No. I’d rather not talk about it for now. I’m gonna just sit with my boy, and make sure he keeps breathing. He lost a lot of blood.”

 

Jim nods. “Fair enough. We can always talk later, John. And if this is any comfort to you, there was someone looking out for Dean tonight. Your son is strong. He will make it through the night.”

 

John nods in return and Jim quietly slips out of the room, and comes face to face with the boy who’d followed John into the church. 

 

The boy stands nearly a whole head taller than him, and his clothes are covered in dry blood, and there are tear tracks down his young face. The boy looks young, certainly no older than eighteen, if he’s even that old, but his eyes speak volumes of age, and Jim finds himself concerned for the boy.

 

“Hello, son,” Jim says gently.

 

“Is he gonna be all right? Will he live? There was so much blood. Oh God, please tell me he’s gonna be okay,” the boy says, desperation in his voice.

 

“Dean’s a strong young man. He will pull through, now why don’t we get something to eat and you tell me about yourself? How did you end up out there to begin with?” 

 

Sam takes in a breath and looks the man up and down. There’s nothing threatening about him, and food would be nice about now.

 

“Okay,” Sam says, and a few minutes later they are in a small kitchen that’s at the end of the hall, and Jim sets a plate of ham sandwiches down in front of Sam.

 

Sam takes one and takes a huge bite out of it, and washes it down with some water, and then he’s gobbling the food down like there’s no tomorrow. Jim takes the chair across from the boy and just watches him, and as he watches him, his eyes widen a little as he sees traces of Dean and John in the boy, and when the boy’s finally done eating, Jim’s gaze locks with the boy’s hazel green eyes and if he didn’t know any better, Jim would swear that John is sitting across from him.

 

“What is it, Father?” Sam asks.

 

Jim shakes his head and smiles a little. “You can call me Jim, or Pastor Jim if you prefer. It’s just you remind me of someone. It’s nothing really, now how about telling me how you ended up out there tonight?”

 

Sam looks down at the table and worriedly tears at the paper towel lying next to his plate, but there is something about this man that is honest and good and decent, and Sam wants to come clean. He’s wanted to confess for years. Confession won’t make him clean again. No, this is the kind of dirt that never goes away.

 

So Sam sighs, and he only tells the pastor about meeting Dean in Chicago a couple of weeks earlier, about being accused of stealing, and Dean taking up for him. He tells about taking off with Dean, because it means not living on the streets, and Pastor Jim just nods, though Sam can tell that Pastor Jim knows more than what he’s being told.

 

And then Sam hesitates.

 

“What is it, son?” Jim asks him.

 

Sam closes his eyes and let’s out a deep breath. “Tonight, when I pulled him into the car, he reached up and looked at me. He looked so peaceful and he said something, that’s all.”

 

“What did Dean say, Sam?” Jim asks gently.

 

Sam bites his bottom lip before he looks up again and meets Jim’s eyes. “He said, ‘Good having you back, Sammy. Missed you. Love you.’ No one’s ever said that to me before. Do you…?”

 

“Do I what?”

 

“Do you think he meant it? He hasn’t known me very long, but I swear it’s like he’s known me my whole life. I mean that whole week in the car before we met up with his dad, it was almost like normal. Like he really means it when he says he wants to help me. That he wants to be my friend. And there’s more. He’s not like the others. He pushes me away, never asks for anything in return, but I want to repay him. I… I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. I never want anyone to touch me, but I want him to.”

 

Jim sits back in the chair and clears his throat a little. “So you’re attracted to Dean?”

 

Sam nods. “I guess so. He’s the first person who’s ever treated me like I’m a person and not some punk kid or a whore…”

 

“Whore?” Jim asks carefully.

 

Sam lets his head fall back and runs his tongue across his lips before he looks at Jim again. “You do what you have to when it comes to surviving.”

 

Jim nods knowingly. “Yes, we do. Now you have choices to make. You could leave, go back to what you know. You could stay with Dean. Or you can join me here, I could use an assistant to help keep the grounds, and help me with research and other things.”

 

“Why are you being so nice?” Sam asks, his eyes narrowing, and his tone defensive.

 

“I’ve been where you are, son. I know about surviving and I know about loss,” Jim replies.

 

“That may be, but you don’t know me. I’m not leaving Dean. I’ll help with the grounds while he’s holed up here to pay for our stay, but that’s it. When he’s better I leave with him,” Sam says firmly.

 

“What about John?” Jim asks.

 

Sam shrugs. “What about him? He doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m fucking with Dean’s head. Maybe I will in the long run, I don’t know. If he goes, it’s probably for the best. Dean’s better off without him. John sucks the life out of him, and I get that John’s his Dad, but Dean’s a different person away from him.”

 

“You’re probably right. John hasn’t been the same since the loss of his wife and his youngest son.”

 

“Dean said something about his mom and little brother dying,” Sam says.

 

“Oh,” Jim says, and looks up with interest. “Dean’s mother died, that much is true. She died in a fire when Dean was four, but his brother was taken that night. John sent Dean out of the house with little Sammy in his arms, and by the time John made it out of the house, he grabbed up Dean, and Sammy was gone. They never did find him.”

 

“Sammy? Dean’s brother’s name was Sammy?”

 

Jim nods.

 

“So Dean thinks I’m his kid brother?” Sam says with a harsh laugh. “No wonder he won’t touch me. God, this is messed up. How do I prove that I’m not?”

 

Pastor Jim shrugs.

 

\----------

 

John Winchester is gone, and Dean has been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past few days. He’d had a fever the second night, and Sam sat with him the whole night. When Sam isn’t with Dean he’s working on the grounds. He’s mown the lawn, pruned the bushes, and helped Pastor Jim in the garden.

 

Right now he’s taking his lunch in Dean’s room, by his bedside. There is sweat on Dean’s brow. He puts his sandwich down, and takes the cool cloth from the basin on the small table next to Dean’s bed, and wipes the sweat away. He puts the cloth back into the basin and finishes with his sandwich. 

 

The color has returned to Dean’s face, and the scratches on his face are healing nicely. The wound in his side hasn’t seeped blood since that second night. According to Pastor Jim, Dean is doing fine, but Sam isn’t going to be convinced of that until Dean wakes up.

 

Sam is done for the day. His body aches with an honest day’s work and he’s surprised to find that he likes that. Honest work is a nice change of pace for once. Sam lies down in the cot next to Dean’s bed. He lies on his side, and studies Dean’s profile. 

 

Dean’s lips are full and prominent, and Sam wonders what that mouth would feel like against his own, tasting him, saying dirty things just to turn him on. Sam sees the straight edge of Dean’s nose, and swallows at the sight of those ridiculously long lashes, imagines them ghosting along his skin. 

 

He takes in a deep breath, finds that his cock is stirring. He’s never felt so aroused for someone without having to really work himself up to that point. He knows about morning wood, and he knows about thinking of anything just to get hard if the situation calls for it, but being hard because he actually wants someone. This is kind of new.

 

He slips out of the cot, and kneels down next to Dean’s bed. He reaches out, traces Dean’s jaw, stubble catching roughly on the pads of his fingers, and then his fingers are gliding through Dean’s surprisingly soft, short hair. Sam lets his breath out slowly and lifts himself up, then he bends down, his breath ghosting across Dean’s mouth. He notices that Dean’s face twitches a little. 

 

He holds his breath and then he leans down until his lips are lightly pressed to Dean’s mouth, and his eyes flutter shut, as he opens his mouth and his tongue slips across Dean’s perfect mouth. He startles and pulls back when Dean’s mouth falls open beneath his.

 

His eyes shoot open and then he’s staring down into Dean’s confused green eyes. Dean begins to focus and then his own eyes widen and he slowly brings his hand up to his mouth, and stares up in horror at Sam, as he realizes what’s just happened.

 

“No, Sam, we can’t do this,” he says.

 

Sam closes his eyes and sits down on the bed, waiting for everything to come crashing down. Waiting to be left behind, abandoned again, but no. He’s so sick of this bullshit.

 

“Why? Is it because you’re straight? Or is it because you think I’m your long lost kid brother? Think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Sam snaps. “Christ. I don’t care. Even if I am that little baby that got taken from you when you were a kid, I’m not that baby anymore. I never will be again. This is me. I grew up in hell and until recently I was a whore. I’ve never let anyone touch me without paying first, not since… Not since I was fifteen. I’ve never wanted anyone before. A man or a woman. But I want you,” Sam says, and his voice is breaking.

 

“I can’t. I lost you before. If I do this, it’s like losing you all over again. This time I can’t lose you. I’m supposed to protect you, and I can’t do that if I’m fucking you,” Dean says.

 

Sam snorts. “You were a kid when your little brother got snatched. It wasn’t your fault. We’re not brothers. We never will be. We can be this though. Hell, look at what you do to me. Do you think I get hard for just anybody? Do you know what seeing you like this has done to me? You’re the first good thing that has happened to me my whole life. I’m tired of fucking waiting. We talk, and you treat me like I’m a human being, and you don’t care that I sold myself just to eat. I thought you were dying when I dragged you into the car. I’ve never been so scared in my life, and that’s saying something considering…”

 

Dean reaches up and brushes away the tears trailing Sam’s cheeks. Sam shakes his head, sucks in a breath, and looks down at Dean. “Did you mean it?” he asks.

 

“What?” Dean asks in confusion.

 

“When you said you love me. Did you mean it? Or was it just because you were dying? I never thought I’d hear those words, and I want to know why you said them. We haven’t known each other long enough for you to love me!” Sam snaps, “And I saw you running through the woods, I saw what that thing did to you before you came out of the woods. I saw it trying to kill you, like I saw that man when he killed my parents. I was seven, and he stood in the middle of the room, and suddenly they were on the ceiling and everything was on fire. They took me to a psychiatrist. A couple of weeks later I was pulled out of my house by a fireman. My parents were dead, and I was put into foster care. I never saw them die for real. The fireman found me in my bedroom huddled in the corner, but I know that’s how they died. There have been other times too.”

 

“You have visions?” Dean asks.

 

Sam shrugs. “If that’s what you call them. Maybe I’m crazy. I mean, what kind of man has yellow eyes?”

 

“He’s not a man. He’s a demon. He’s what my dad’s been hunting since the night my mother died and you were taken from me.”

 

“I’m not him, Dean. I’m just Sam, and I’m here, right now, and I want you to touch me. I want to touch you, and I want it to be okay. Take it all away. Make it all go away. Mark me, bite me, fuck me, talk dirty and ride me till you can’t move anymore. Make me yours so that I belong to someone, because I’m sick of this. Of never belonging, and always being turned out. If you want me to stay, this what you have to do. I know you want me. You wanted me that first night you slammed me up against the wall.”

 

“Why does it have to be like this?” Dean asks, his voice husky, as he looks up and meets Sam’s wounded gaze.

 

Sam leans down and whispers, “Because I never get what I want. Now if you want me to stay, I have to get what I want. What I want is you.”

 

Dean screws his eyes shut as Sam’s lips brush against his again, and tears seep from the corners of his eyes, because this is wrong, he knows it in his gut, but it feels so right. It feels right to the very marrow of his bones.

 

Sam pulls back, his eyes dark and hooded as he looks down at Dean. “I’ll make it good for you, baby, promise.”

 

Dean lets his head fall back against the pillow as Sam’s mouth burns a trail down his stubble jaw, across his collarbone, as he pulls the sheet down lower, exposing Dean’s chest. He licks and sucks down Dean’s chest, paying careful attention to Dean’s nipples, nibbling until they’re peaked. He continues his descent, careful of the wound at Dean’s side.

 

He slips the sheet the rest of the way down, until it’s pooled at Dean’s feet, and then he’s slipping Dean’s boxers down his legs, and Dean lifts up enough so that Sam can get them off of him. 

 

It doesn’t matter that he’s tired, or that he hurts. This is about Sam, about convincing him to stay, because he needs looking after and Dean needs someone to take care of. 

 

Sam kisses and licks his way back up Dean’s legs, his tongue running along the scabbed over claw marks, making Dean tremble, and then his large hand curls around Dean’s semi-hard cock, and he bends down, his tongue flicking along the tip, pressing against the slit.

 

Despite his injuries, Dean’s hips jolt forward, and Sam smiles, then he lowers his mouth along Dean’s hard cock, swallowing him, and Dean arches up, and lets out a long groan, as Sam’s hand slips down to fondle his balls. Dean’s hands fist into Sam’s too long hair and Sam moans against his cock, creating more friction. He works his head up and down, his tongue tracing along the throbbing vein on the underside of Dean’s cock. 

 

Dean’s grip tightens as the feels himself getting closer to orgasm. He jerks Sam’s head back, and winces as teeth graze a little along his shaft, but that’s his fault. Sam’s gaze meets his in confusion, and Dean drags him up and their lips meet in a frenzy, Dean’s tongue sweeping inside his mouth, and when they pull apart they’re breathing heavily, both of their cocks heavy with arousal, Sam’s cock peeking out of the top of his boxers, and Dean’s erection painful with the need to come.

 

His gaze locks with Sam’s and he says, “This is about more than me. Want to see you come. Want to see you come buried balls deep inside of me. I have to be yours first, before you can be mine.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? You want me inside of you?”

 

Dean grins up at him, and pushes his hair away from his face. “Yeah, but go easy on me. Never been fucked by a guy before, and we got these injuries to worry about too.”

 

Sam nods. “You sure you want to do it like this? I mean, it would be easier on you for your first time if you were on your stomach, less strain.”

 

Dean traces Sam’s jaw with his fingertips. “I told you, Sammy, I wanna see you come.”

 

Sam’s breath catches, but he doesn’t resent the nickname. He nods. “Okay. But, we need some kind of lubricant.”

 

Dean bites down on his lip to think, and then he turns his head to look at the basin of water on his bedside table. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s a cloth and some water in that bowl.”

 

Sam scrunches up his face. “Dude, Pastor Jim blessed that water. You want to use holy water as lube?”

 

Dean shrugs. “This is kinda like a christening. I mean you’re officially becoming a Winchester. You’re going to take my name if we’re doing this, and this is for keeps. I don’t let just any guy fuck me.”

 

Sam nods. “I like the way that sounds. It would do me good to drop the name Montgomery. Ain’t brought nothing but trouble anyway.”

 

Dean’s hand slips to the back of Sam’s head and he brings the younger man down for another kiss, his tongue sweeping hungrily into Sam’s mouth as Sam’s grinds his boxer covered crotch against Dean’s. When Sam pulls back he leans toward Dean’s ear, his lips brushing the shell of Dean’s ear as he whispers, “Gotta get you ready. Just remember to relax.”

 

Dean nods as Sam slips out of his boxers. Dean is impressed by the younger man. They’re about the same length, which holds it’s own bragging rights, but Sam’s is a little thicker, and Dean wonders how he’s going to be able to take all of that inside of him. It’s too late to second-guess now though.

 

Sam takes the washcloth from the basin, the damp cloth dripping and slipping along Dean’s thighs, and then Sam’s between his legs, helping to support Dean’s weight against his thighs, and Dean’s body shudders at the feel of Sam’s length against the crack of his ass, and then that soft, wet cloth is between his ass cheeks, and he feels Sam’s finger at his puckered whole.

 

He tenses, and Sam looks down at him, and whispers, “It’s okay. Just relax.”

 

Dean takes a couple of deep breaths as Sam’s finger slips inside of him up to the first knuckle, and damn if Sam doesn’t have some long ass fingers. Dean’s head falls back against the pillows, his neck strained. 

 

Sam leans down and nibbles and sucks against his throat, and works his finger the rest of the way into Dean. Dean forces himself to relax as Sam adds a second finger, damp from the washcloth. As Sam works the second finger inside he grazes Dean’s prostate and Dean’s body shivers and Sam grins.

 

“Do that again,” Dean groans.

 

Sam scissors his fingers inside of Dean, stretching him, and then adds a third finger, and while it burns, it’s not so bad as long as Sam keeps hitting that spot, and Sam does. 

 

And that spot and Sam’s cock rubbing between his thighs is making his dick twitch eagerly for something more.

 

“Now, Sam. Fuck me now,” Dean hisses.

 

Sam bites down on his collarbone, the blunt head of his cock at Dean’s opening, and he pulls back, looks Dean in the eyes and says, “I don’t have any protection, not now, but I’m clean. I got checked regularly at the health department. I got my results earlier that day you took me in. You don’t got a thing to worry about.”

 

Dean nods, and then Sam is thrusting his way inside, and Dean arches up, his spine going stiff as his ass burns with the sensation of Sam’s cock slipping inside. 

 

“Relax,” Sam sooths, as he kisses and licks at the bite mark he’s left on Dean’s collarbone, and as Dean relaxes he thrusts all the way inside and Dean jerks as Sam’s cock hits that spot again, and Sam is buried balls deep inside.

 

He nearly comes undone when Sam’s hand curls around his cock and starts moving up and down, in time with his thrusting. Dean starts rocking his hips into Sam’s hand, and Sam’s pace increases, until he’s pounding into Dean with an intensity that Dean’s never known before. 

 

Sam bites and marks, and scratches, and kisses like a man possessed, and yet he’s tender and careful that he hits that spot over and over with every thrust, and then Dean’s back is arching as his hips stutter against Sam’s hand and he’s coming, hard and hot on Sam’s hand and his stomach, and then Sam thrusts in deep, grazing that spot, and Dean sees stars at the over stimulation of having just come, and then Sam’s back is arched, his head thrown back and he roars Dean’s name and comes deep and hard inside of Dean.

 

He continues to thrust as he works through his orgasm, and then he collapses on Dean, and Dean grunts. Sam nips at Dean’s neck, and whispers throatily, “Mine. Never gonna leave, cause you’re mine now.”

 

Dean simply nods as Sam pulls out of him and then curls up around him. Dean reaches down blindly for the sheets and pulls them up around them, and while he feels sore, he’s satisfied, and the wound in his side isn’t seeping so the stitches aren’t torn. There’s nothing to worry about, because he’s Sam’s, and Sam isn’t going anywhere.

 

He’s spent his whole life walking in the shadows. The death of his mother, the loss of his brother, his father’s disappointment has seen to that, but he’s found his brother again. Sammy is lying curled up beside him, newly christened in holy water and come, and he doesn’t care if it’s wrong, it’s right in his bones, and he belongs to Sam, and deep down he knows that Sam belongs to him, and that’s enough for now. It’s more than enough for now.

 

End.


End file.
